Outliving
by capricorn5
Summary: Used both as an epilogue for 'An unexpected life' that I have just finished writing and as another chapter for 'A story of Sherlock and Molly' this is the tale that was left to tell. The two stories mentioned above ended up connecting with each other and this is how it resumes. Sherlolly.


Written by request and it gave me immense pleasure, this is both an epilogue for 'An unexpected life' and yet another chapter for the short fic 'A story of Sherlock and Molly', two stories that ended up connecting with each other.

* * *

Sherlock sat at the small café and placed his gloves on the table, one over the other. Despite the cold and dark late afternoon, he removed his scarf and hung it on his own chair. He didn't take off his coat, though. Somehow, it made him feel more comfortable, knowing something was still in place.

The waiter came by, asking him if he wanted to order something and he asked for some black coffee for two. In spite of the double order, it wasn't for him; the person he was waiting for should arrive soon and since he didn't want to be interrupted later, he thought it may be better to order right away. Just a few minutes later the waiter placed the coffeepot and two cups on the table and Sherlock paid, and he left.

The door opened and the chime rang. Sherlock turned his neck to see a couple walking inside, trying to run away from the cold. Then, as he watched the couple sitting he tried to relax a little. He was used to have control over his own body and this adjustment was quite annoying. To pass time he checked on the couple.

She was an air-hostess, planning to stay for no longer than two days, going by the small case she had alongside her. She had come straight away from the airport to the café with the man right in front of her. Not her boyfriend, though. She had quite a lot of make-up, to impress, and by the way the couple talked Sherlock knew they haven't met for long. The man, an accountant, seemed to want to impress her even more than she wanted to impress him; Sherlock could guess that by the way he was dressed and the reek of perfume that reached his own table. He would want to impress her, so he had taken her to that café, but he wasn't giving all he had: it was a simple café after all. So, Sherlock deduced, they had met on a flight, she had just arrived and had little time, but she wasn't looking for a one-night stand, she was trying to build up a relationship. And he, bringing her to this particular place instead of his own house, was showing her she could trust him.

This, Sherlock read in just a few minutes and, as the woman's eyes caught his, he faced away. He had no right to pry, but it was hardly possible not to look, not to see. If he cared, it would have been a curse; seeing without being able to say it. But, as it was, it was a gift. And, to be honest to himself, one he enjoyed. There was a thrill in exposing people, especially when they took to bully him. When they thought they could say what they wanted about him without being fought back. He had done it to Anderson and Donovan. It was his only weapon against them.

The chime sounded again and Sherlock turned his head, quietly this time. And, as he expected, there she was. She was wearing a long coat, thick enough for the snow that had started to fall outside and her hair tied in a braid, parted to the side. Sherlock saw she was coming straight from the hospital, after a day's work. She seemed tired but somehow pleased and Sherlock made a mental note not to mention the tired bit and instead replace it for beautiful.

Molly's lips opened into a smile as soon as she saw him and she walked towards him, removing her coat. Underneath it she was wearing a wool sweater and some fit jeans, the boots up to her knees. She placed her purse on the floor and hung the coat on the chair.

"Hello." She said, amicably.

Sherlock got up and helped her sit down and then sat as well, in front of her. He glanced as the two stranger's hands interlaced and they seemed to have forgotten all around them. He forced himself to look away and checked the coffeepot to make sure it was still warm. He pointed at it, talking to Molly.

"I ordered some coffee." He said. And added. "You look good."

Beautiful wasn't a word he knew how to use.

Molly smiled and poured herself some coffee, pouring a little into Sherlock's cup as well.

"Thank you." She said. "I really needed this. It's so cold outside. And just as I left the hospital it started snowing. Sorry I am late, I had to walk here and I had to do it slowly. I didn't make a right choice in boots."

The easy way she held a conversation with him now never ceased to amuse Sherlock. The clumsy, shy Molly was still there, but there was always a hint of confidence as well. Sherlock gazed at her wedding band and swallowed, remembering the last time they had met at this particular café. Did she remember? Well, he couldn't know that nor would he ask her about it. Things were pretty difficult just the way they were. Molly was looking at him over her coffee cup, still smiling and slightly curious.

"You asked me to meet you here." She pointed out. "Is everything alright? Is everything okay with John?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes, he's fine. He's back at work and blogging again. He doesn't go as often as before on my cases but he always inquires about them to make sure he tells the right story. It's all going well."

"And Mrs. Hudson? I heard she has gotten herself in some problem because of her hip?"

Molly couldn't help but laugh now and Sherlock laughed as well.

"Yes, apparently her evening soother wasn't exactly what the doctor had recommended. She swears she had no idea, but she still had to testify about it."

"And you had nothing to do with it, I believe."

"Why would I? I have to admit she was quite happy about any of my experiments at the time, and that came in handy, but I had never thought about trading her medicine for something more… recreational."

Molly laughed again and looked at him, a tender smile on her face. It was funny how he was always the one to have a certain power over Molly and now she looked at him with nonchalance and distance. But, as Sherlock could tell by her expression, she was also waiting for an explanation. To hear his reasons to call her there, instead of just popping out at the morgue like he so often did. Sherlock bought himself some time.

"Are you going back to the morgue?"

"Well, yes I have to. I have a few more things to do, and tonight is my night shift. I had some fish and fries before coming here, though, because I was hungry and I know you barely eat, so don't worry."

He nodded and waited. She took a sip of coffee and waited as well.

The door opened again and the couple left the café, holding hands. Sherlock waited for the door to close and then looked at Molly. She was staring at him already, warming up her hands on the cup. The ring reflected the light from the ceiling into Sherlock's eyes and he took a deep, but silent, breath. He wasn't sure anymore if this had been a good idea. But the matter had taken too much room in his mind and he wanted to end it, for once and for all. His brain had no place for trivial things and doubt. There was only room for certainty, no matter the consequences.

"I called you here because I needed to ask you a question."

Molly nodded. She was getting a bit concerned. It wasn't very usual of Sherlock to arrange meetings, even less between the two of them. What if he was sick? The thought crept into her mind and Molly placed the cup back on its saucer and reached out for his arm.

"Oh my God, are you sick?"

Sherlock furrowed.

"No, I am not sick. Why?"

"Well, this meeting. Wanting to talk to me. I just thought…"

"No, I'm fine. I am not sick." Sherlock answered.

Molly sighed, relieved and smiled again. And Sherlock proceeded.

"A few months ago you asked me to meet you here, remember?"

Molly looked around and nodded. She obviously recognised the place and the situation Sherlock was talking about. Actually, now that he had brought it up. she felt a little embarrassed. But, apparently unaware of her rosy cheeks, Sherlock continued.

"Well, I would like to ask you if it's still true."

Now it was Molly's turn to furrow.

"Sorry, I don't think I understand. Still true?"

She couldn't remember exactly the words she had said to him, though she had an idea. Still, she wanted to be sure what he was asking her.

"I want to know if, despite everything," and he pointed at the ring finger of her left hand. "You still …"

It was a struggle to bring the word out. He used it so seldom and never directed at himself. But he pushed the words though his tongue.

"If even now, you still love me."

It had been said. He had made it. He looked at the coffee meant for him and watched as the strings of smoke curled above the cup, in the air. He could not face her.

"Why do you care?"

Her tone was not angry, just compassionate and genuinely curious. Sherlock looked up. It was time to face the demons and he knew Molly wouldn't let him try to trick her, how easy that might have seem to him. Molly would push it through this time and would demand an answer. He looked at his own hands once more and then faced her, without really looking into her eyes.

"Because I have been…" Having this particular conversation in his own head while Molly wasn't there had been a lot easier. Once again, he had no trouble with saying his own mind when needed be: a case, to insult someone, to protect himself. But, as it was, the subject was much more delicate and, in truth, he was not used to deal with it. Suddenly, for what seemed to be the first time in his life, the words failed him. He was not, however, one to despond, and so he fought, he soldiered on. "I have to focus. I need my brain. I need to be able to think clearly, to pay attention to my cases and I cannot conceive being distracted by small matters. If I get distracted my mind gets blurred and my only way of working ruined. So, it took me quite a while but I need to know. It's rotting me."

Molly saw as he struggled with the words. Something so simple to her, who had an ordinary mind, seemed to need all of his efforts. Sherlock Holmes might be a genius, but his flaws were basic and endearing. She smiled at the thought.

"I just don't understand how my answer is going to make it better. To make your mind rest and be at its best use." Molly was clever and Sherlock's attempt a failure. "What exactly do you want to know?"

The message had got through. Sherlock was terrified now, but wasn't it easier this way? She had gone straight to the point and now all he had to do was answer.

"I…" his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. "I want to know, if I still have a chance."

He couldn't bear to look at her but Molly's eyes were set on his face, on the way his curly hair fell on his forehead and the nervous way he chewed his lower lip. She reached out for him and held his hand on hers.

"You do know I am married now, Sherlock."

He didn't move, he waited.

"And Lestrade really is a wonderful husband. He was a good boyfriend, but he is even better as a husband, believe it or not. Sometimes, when two people go and live together things get rough. But somehow, it had gotten better. I am not alone anymore. He supports me about everything. He calls me often when he is away on a case. He cares. He never forgets a special date and he buys me things sometimes, or brings me a flower he picked up from our own garden, just to let me know he cares. To let me know he loves me. And it's all good. We're fine, happy. Actually, it's quite strange how well we get along." Molly paused for a second, reminiscing. "I can't just turn my back on him, on us, Sherlock."

The curls on his forehead balanced again, up and down, with her response.

"I understand."

He picked up his own scarf and placed it around his neck, though he felt suffocated enough without it.

"I didn't answer your question, though." Molly said.

He was about to get up and leave but at her words he froze in place and stared at her. Her eyes had welled up.

"If you ask me if I had rather known before? I don't know. I am not sure how life with you could have been better than the life I have with him. And you certainly haven't explained why in fact you are asking me this, so forgive me if I am seeing things that aren't there, but I don't think you would have asked me to meet you here today if you didn't feel something for me. It's not always easy to read you, especially to read your words. But I think I got the hang of it by now. So, I am just assuming that's why you are asking if you still have a chance with me. You don't say it, you would never say it." And then she stopped for a moment, remembering the evening of her own wedding. "Actually, you did say it once. You told me you loved me to the moon and back. But you were drunk, so it doesn't count."

Sherlock wanted her to stop talking right there, he wanted to prove her wrong, he wanted to tell her he had meant it, even if he didn't know it at the time. But he didn't. And she continued.

"I am not sure when all of this began, Sherlock, but it isn't fair to ask me if I still love you after everything that happened, or expect my answer may change anything. You had your chance and I wish you would still have it, but I can't do this to Greg. He is a good man, and he deserves to be happy and I couldn't forgive myself to hurt him this way. So, the words I am going to tell you will stay with you, and you will move on. I am just saying this to you because I know what a struggle it must have been for you to come here and, in a way, sort of open up your heart." She took a deep breath. "I do love you, still. I don't know how that can be because I love Greg as well, very much. But you were someone I could never get over. And I doubt I ever will. And since you were honest to me I am telling you the truth. Yes, I do love you. No, I will not hurt someone I also love, give up on so many things, for you. The last time we met here I would have turned my back on everything blindly and follow you anywhere you wanted. But not anymore. I am sorry."

She got up and put on her coat, picking up her purse from the floor. Then, cleaning the tears that were falling from her face with her left hand, she grabbed his face and placed a gentle kiss on his curly black hair. She didn't turn around; she opened the door of the café and left, at quick pace. Sherlock stared at his own cup, the coffee as cold as his own heart. But now, it wasn't his choice.

Sherlock left the café right after Molly, trying to compose himself and stopped at the door, looking at her footsteps on the snowy ground. Without really knowing what he was doing, he followed them, walking slowly. The resolution came bit by bit, taking hold of his mind.

The lights were all lightened up inside, but the air was not cold here. He walked through the corridors; he knew them like the back of his hand. She looked up when he opened the door and stopped what she was doing. Apart from the two of them, the lab was deserted. Sherlock approached and Molly's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't speak a word. He got close to her and held her back with one hand and pulled her against him. Then, as they were, he kissed her on the lips, gently. She didn't pull away and his kiss was soft but languid, bitter-sweet.

"It is still truth, you know?" He said, finally releasing her from the kiss, but still holding her close.

"What?" Her question was barely a whisper.

"I do. I do love you. To the moon and back." He let go of her finally and paced towards the door. Then, before leaving, he turned around. "I always will."

He then left and closed the door behind himself.

Molly stood there in the room, clutching at her clothes, trying to slow down the rhythm of her heart. Then, as the realisation hit her, she smiled. Sherlock Holmes loved her. And not just love either, but to the moon and back. And that might just be enough to get her through the rest of her life.

Sherlock walked in the cold again, his scarf tight around his neck, not sure where he was headed. His lips were still numb. He stopped in the middle of the empty street and started to laugh. He laughed loud and fully. His heart had tricked him. And, god, it felt so good! Maybe there was a reason ordinary people got so addicted to these mundane things. That kiss had been enough for a lifetime. He realised he didn't have to push Molly away, to erase the feeling from his mind. No, he would use it to his own good. Love would eat him up from the inside and one day he would be gone. And with him, he would take more than the thrilling of his cases and the numbness of a boring life. With him, he would take a secret only two people knew. And he realised now that more than being able to keep his heart away from love, he had achieved something much more venerable: he had outlived it.


End file.
